Blood From A Stone
by TheOP3RaT0R
Summary: In Skyrim, the Fourth Era is history. In a world of gritty detectives, femme fatales, and smooth criminals, Detective Tacitus Axianus must solve a crime that may have surprising implications, both supernatural and personal. This Imperial had no idea that an invitation to a lavish party hosted by a former lover now ascended to fantastic riches could lead him where it does.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

An Imperial sat in a smoke-filled office in Solitude on a particularly rainy night. His tall, toned figure, framed by a white button-up shirt, was relaxing in an office chair; his long legs, wrapped in pinstriped reddish-maroon slacks, resting on a desk; and his fair-skinned hand holding a cigarette. His complexion was nearly matched by his pale blond hair, which was parted at the left side and combed over to the right and backwards. His sharp face suggested a noble ancestry, a family history of inbreeding and lies more glamorous than the man's current occupation.

On the oak desk sat a smoldering ashtray, a nine-millimeter pistol and leather torso holster, a small stack of papers, a sheathed katana, and a telephone. The desk was flanked to the right by a window, whose half-opened blinds made slats of street lights illuminate the man's form. To the left was a glass liquor cabinet, a squat iron safe, and a coat hanger, which bore a dark red leather overcoat. Across from the desk there was a closed door and a clock.

The Imperial took a drag of his cigarette and looked to the pane of glass being pelted by raindrops. He had closed the case of a serial killer who had been picking off the homeless in Haafingar not two hours earlier, and it had earned him a bullet to the shoulder, a scolding from the Chief for property damage caused by the criminal as he tried to escape, and a restless night. The healer had fixed his wound up, but the soreness would not go away. A buzzing broke through the silence of the wee hours of the morning. "Tacitus," said the secretary, "a message for you." The Imperial groaned as he lifted himself from his chair and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Glancing at the clock over the door as he headed out of his office, he saw that it was 2:45 in the morning.

In the aorta of the detectives' wing of the headquarters of the Skyrim Province Bureau of Investigation, a woman sat at a desk surrounded by the doors to a number of investigators' offices. She had wavy red hair down to her shoulders and bright green eyes, dimmed by the late hours she had to work; those green eyes tried to pierce the gold-blue ones of Tacitus, but they could not. In the two and a half years he had worked with the Bureau, that hollow man had never taken notice of the secretary's tight skirts or low blouses - which were directed specifically at him - but still the sweet-faced Nord persisted. "A letter, Tacitus. No sender's name on the outside, but the return address is 1010 Queen's Flight Drive, Riften. That's on Lake Honrich. What business would some rich folk have with you, I wonder?"

"No clue. Thank you, Angi," Tacitus said tiredly, before retreating to his office.

Back at his desk, Tacitus flicked on a lamp and opened the letter. It read:

_Tacitus,_

_You are invited to a gala, to be held at the Adlain Manor on the 31st of Sun's Height, beginning at 6 o'clock in the evening._

_Tyrolil Bernand, steward of the estate of Arana Adlain_

Arana.

_So, she has a manor on the Gold Coast of Skyrim now,_ the Imperial thought in disbelief. _And today is the 31st._

Tacitus rubbed his eyes, hesitating for a moment, then proceeded to prepare for the journey. He strapped on his torso holster and pistol, latched his antique katana to his belt's hilt, and finally donned his suit jacket and leather coat. He headed out from his office once more, picking up his riding gloves, leather skull cap, and goggles. As he headed through the small lobby, Angi asked, "Where're you going?"

"A party," the Imperial said as he pulled on his riding gear and continued down the hall of the mansion-turned-headquarters until he came to the stairs which led to the main lobby. He pushed out the door to the tired but still alive street, walked to the edge of the building, and turned right into the narrow cobblestoned alleyway where his gleaming black motorcycle was parked. It was a thing of sober beauty, adorned with polished black parts and the occasional hint of chrome, all clean lines and smooth curves. Its roar echoed through the alley.

Tacitus looked down at his watch, which read 3 AM. _I should be there by 7,_ he thought. He mounted the bike and pulled out into the streets. Across the great arch and along the main southern road through Solitude, Tacitus found the rarely-traveled Stormcrown Highway, one of the only roads which ran across Skyrim without any major stops between cities and was famed as claiming the lives of many who ventured the treacherous road. As he rode the desolate route, the Imperial wondered to himself how his former lover had come into a fortune in just a few years. Hopefully when in Riften, he would find out.

Tacitus glanced through large plate glass windows into a sparsely populated diner along a road leading into Riften, laying his riding cap and goggles on his parked motorcycle's seat and tucking his gloves into his pockets. Warm rains had rolled in with the sunrise, and the soft patter of the droplets on all in sight was accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. Tacitus pushed open the diner's door and his presence was announced by the ding of a bell above the doorway.

The proprietor was in conversation with an employee. "Frea," he said with a light Nordic accent, "I need you to find someone who's selling eggs for less than a premium. Those damn chicken farmers are so protective of their birds... Oh, hello sir, what can I get you?"

"Coffee. Black. And a little information, if you could oblige me," Tacitus said as he took a seat at the cafe's long bar.

"Coffee, I'll have that right up. Information... Perhaps. On what?"

"A manor at 1010 Queen's Flight Drive. A few miles from here."

"Oh, the Gilded Drive, we call it. The owners of the mansions along the lake like to keep to themselves generally, but a little information gets around. The manor at that address? Owned by a Dunmer, I'm pretty sure. Frea! The manor at 1010 Queen's Flight, owned by a Dark Elf, right?"

The waitress replied across the cafe, "Name's Arana or something like that. I drive through that area to pick up some farm goods, and that mansion's one of the biggest."

"Yeah, that's right," the man affirmed as he delivered to Tacitus his coffee. "She's only been living there six months. Came outta nowhere, nobody ever heard her name before. It takes a little more than just money to get a spot on the lake front. Connections. That's one thing that I just don't get about that whole deal; what connections does a stranger have on Lake Honrich?"

"Strange."

Tacitus mulled over all he had just heard, suspicious of Arana's sudden rise to wealth. Not necessarily suspecting some foul play, but bewildered by the improbability of it all. He took a sip of coffee. Then, getting up from his stool and leaving the cost of the coffee at the bar, he thanked the Nord and left. As he reapplied his riding gear, Tacitus identified his next destination.

"Brother, I can only tell you the same story you've heard," a thin, charming Wood Elf dressed in an all-black suit and black shirt said from his temporary seat on the edge of a desk in his lavish study. "She showed up half a year ago, nobody knew her then, and that's pretty damn near the way it still is."

"Well, I know her, and I don't understand how she gained a massive fortune out of thin air!"

"Correction, you _knew her_, and a lot can happen in three years."

"Let me remind you, Mister Malborn, that the reason why you manage to stay out of prison is that you're the best at finding out what kind of things happen in three years. The fact that you're behind a large portion of the theft that hits Skyrim's wealthy yearly would be a large factor in earning me a nice promotion if I brought you in."

"Oh, I never pegged you as a joker, Detective Axianus, but you truly do have a way of splitting my sides!" Malborn said sarcastically. His voice shifted to a seductively serious tone. "If you brought me in because I'm... not in a position to give you what you want right now - which might I add you are admittedly unable to procure yourself - you would miss out on an opportunity for an equally beneficial alternative."

"Go on."

"Gladly." Malborn walked around behind his desk, picked up a paper, and handed it across to Tacitus. "That is the guest list to Arana's social inauguration. You're on it, I noticed when it came into my hands; so am I. That party will provide perfect cover for me to get the information you want."

Tacitus was looking over the list as Malborn spoke, and a number of familiar names stood out. _By the gods... I haven't seen them in forever,_ he thought. He had not seen those names in a while, and now that he knew he inevitably would that evening, Tacitus was not thrilled. He had been a different person when they had been his friends. "Alright," Tacitus conceded. "I'll see you this afternoon." In the foyer of the relatively small mansion, Tacitus stopped in front of a great slab of ancient carved stone taken from a crypt and turned to ask, "Have you got a bow tie I can borrow?"

The sky had cleared by six o'clock, and guests were pouring in through the Adlain Manor's long driveway to be let off at the mansion's front door. Tyrolil Bernand, steward of the manor, was dressed in a black tuxedo and was directing guests through the house to the entrance of the mansion's great ball room. Tacitus put down the kickstand on his motorcycle in the roundabout in front of the mansion and took in the massive sight.

It was an imposing yet elegant structure with a sandstone exterior punctuated with white marble accents in the way of a front portico, window frames, and some ornament. A marble fountain stood before the portico; behind the mansion there was an expansive green leading up to Lake Honrich, and to the left and right that green shifted to forest. Tacitus's eyes were drawn from the house by the sight and sound of a roaring engine pulling up and parking behind him. Tacitus glanced at his watch. "Right on time, Malborn." The elf happily stood up from his graceful baby blue roadster, and replied, "I always am."

The two began to walk toward the house when Malborn split off to infiltrate the mansion. Tacitus continued moving with the crowd of guests toward the ballroom, and was greeted at the door by a butler who took the Imperial's coat. He walked past and entered the ballroom, stopping to look over the great marbled and gilded room. From the entrance marble steps descended to the ornate ballroom floor, and to the left and right an elevated area extended like arms. The bar, packed with people, lay to the right of the stairs. The whole room was flanked by great tall windows offering a glimpse out into the evening. The floor was covered with the faces of Skyrim's high society mingling and drinking.

Out of the crowd, he caught a glimpse of a Dunmer and went after her; before he could get any further than the bottom of the steps, an arm wrapped around his neck from behind. A delicate hand inched its way down Tacitus' chest, finding a gold and diamond necklace beneath his shirt and pulling it out for the owner of the hand to examine.

"Elsa," Tacitus said calmly, but with a hint of puzzlement. "So good to see you. Speaking of which, let me see you." He took the hand and swung Elsa around in front of him, then took a look at her; the Nord had not changed much. Same emerald eyes, light brown hair, impressive figure, all framed by a shimmering teal gown, red lipstick, and diamond earrings.

"So nice to see you, too," she said with civility. "_And_ that necklace of yours..."

"Is staying right here. Why don't we have a dance and catch up?"

"Sounds delightful." Tacitus took Elsa closely into his arms and they danced as the band played a symphonic rendition of an ancient Nordic ballad. "So, what're you doing with yourself these days, Tacitus?"

"Detective work. You?"

Elsa smiled over the Imperial's shoulder as she replied, "Oh, certainly not theft, if that's what you're thinking. Inheriting a fortune has gotten me onto the straight and narrow. Yes sir. You know, maybe I could get you out of that necklace somehow..."

"So, where's Garrus?"

"Over by the bar. I'll have to let you two catch up after our dance." Tacitus could feel Elsa's arm inching toward his wallet pocket. He grabbed it and put it back in its place. "Straight and narrow, hm?"

Elsa led Tacitus over to the bar and, stopping at an Imperial clad in a green military dress uniform, said, "Garrus, dear, look who it is."

Garrus turned, downing a bourbon and taking in Tacitus. "Who is it," he said, not as a question but as a statement. Tacitus noted that Garrus' uniform was decorated with numerous medals.

"It's Tacitus, dear."

"Oh, of course. Tacitus could Elsa and I have a word alone?" Tacitus nodded cautiously as the couple stepped away.

"What are you doing, bringing the detective over here?" Garrus hissed.

"He's an old friend, and we're going to be nice innocent friends and accommodate him."

"You just had to run into him. What if he finds out-"

"He won't." Elsa took Garrus' hand and the couple returned, looking mildly happy. "Ah, now we can talk," Elsa said smilingly.

"So, Garrus, you were sent off to the war since we last spoke?"

Garrus was busy replenishing his drink. At Tacitus' question, he turned and replied, "Yes, but that was a little while back."

"It has been a 'little while' since we saw each other. How long were you fighting?"

"Two years."

"You wasted no time, I see," Tacitus said, gesturing at Garrus' medals.

"You could say that," Garrus said before taking a long drink.

"What did you do over there?" At this question, Garrus threw back his drink and downed it, but before he could reply Elsa laughed nervously and thew herself into the conversation. "Garrus, dear, what say you and I have a dance?"

"Fine."

His old friends gone, Tacitus returned to his search for Arana. _Her own party,_ he thought, _and she's nowhere to be found._ The Imperial had taken up a perch at the edge of the ballroom near the entrance and was leaning on the railing, his chin on his fist. Behind him a group of women passed through his peripheral vision. His mind and ears wandered to their conversation.

"Doctor, these are a few of the friends I said I'd introduce you to," one woman said excitedly.

"Mm, yes," the doctor dismissed her. "Well, introduce them." The man was very disinterested as the woman introduced her friends, but this did not faze the adoring ladies. "Eh, well, my pleasure." The man's tone contradicted his words. Tacitus glanced back and saw the doctor, tuxedo clad, going from woman to woman, deflating the ego of each. "You get a facelift, you have a tummy tuck, you get a nose job. Oh... You've already had one. Not one of mine, evidently."

_Gods, man's a ladykiller for sure._

"But you..." The doctor said, evidently to another woman. "You have potential. Why don't we go discuss it?" Tacitus looked up again as the doctor took the woman by the arm and began walking away. The investigator caught a glimpse of the doctor's face.

"Pilus!" He exclaimed in a hushed tone, simply for his own hearing.

Pilus was leading a pretty Bosmer in an elegantly simple white dress away from her friends. She had obviously had too much to drink, and she was losing herself as the lanky Imperial regaled her, with little enthusiasm, of his prestigious position and her looks. As the couple turned a corner at the door from the ballroom to the rest of the house, Pilus took the glass of champagne residing precariously in the elf's hand and laid it on a small table along the wall before continuing down the hall. "Wow, a cosmetic surgeon, how interesting! You must really be someone to get into a party like this."

"Well, I am the best in my relatively infant field, but you'd be surprised at just who they'll let in to a place like this. Here, a powder room." The doctor opened the door for the Bosmer, then followed, closing the door behind him.

"So," the woman started, having turned to face Pilus in a buzzed attempt at seduction. Putting a hand on his chest, she asked, "Tell me more about how I specifically caught your attention?"

"Well, besides your looks, of course, you just seem so... Vital. Alive."

She pulled closer. "I'm alive, all right, especially being here. With you." The elf took Pilus' hand and placed it on her chest, intending to let him feel her heartbeat but landing slightly off target, on her breast. He cupped a hand to the side of the woman's face and kissed her. They came closer together, and Pilus gently led the woman back to the wall. While she wildly kissed his neck, Pilus whispered, "You know, I'm not some stiff doctor only concerned about science and sobriety." He nibbled on her ear seductively.

"I didn't doubt it," the woman panted.

"There's something beautiful about the inner workings of a body. Raw, organic, a wonderful mystery."

"Oh, you'll get to experience the inner workings of my body soon enough," the woman half-moaned, overcome and unbuttoning Pilus' shirt.

"Yes, I will." Pilus dug a pill out of his trousers' pocket, popped it into his mouth, and quickly kissed the Bosmer, transferring it to her mouth. In her furor, the woman had swallowed the pill, and her eyes belied a foggy terror as she drifted to sleep.

"Woman of the hour's quite something, isn't she?"

The voice came from on Tacitus' right. He turned to see a young, handsome brown-haired Breton leaning casually with his back against the marble railing, martini in hand. The dashing fellow wore all white: white tuxedo suit, white bow tie, white shoes. All these were punctuated by a blood-red rose on the breast pocket. Tacitus sighed. "She is. But where have you seen her, son? She's been noticeably absent from her party all evening."

"Over there." He turned and pointed all the way across the room, where a Dunmer could be seen. "And what in Oblivion is 'son' supposed to mean coming from someone like you?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Strange she'd show up so late."

"Better late than never, eh?" The man took a drink. "That's my thought on the matter. I've got to get over there, strike up a conversation. The things I'd do to her..." The young man was practically licking his lips in anticipation of a feast, at which Tacitus chuckled. A moment later, his mildly amiable demeanor turned serious. "Ha! I was right to call you a boy. The things _she'd _do to _you_ if you got that far..."

"What, she a-"

"No." Tacitus tapped his head, a small smirk taking form on his face. "It's psychological. But your position is understandable. You remind me of me, ten years younger and twenty... Well, twenty cases earlier."

"You a cop or something?"

"Yeah. Or something."

The Breton extended his hand. "Jadier Dolbanette."

Tacitus shook the hand of the young man and said, "Detective Tacitus Axianus. Say, would you be related to a Jerome Dolbanette?"

"He's my brother."

"I knew him."

A short pause came, courtesy of what Tacitus' use of past tense implied. Jadier changed the subject. "Well, Detective, care to tell your story, forewarn me before I suffer irreparable damage at the hands of this mental femme fatale?"

"Another time. But if you're going to talk with her, Jadier Dolbanette, you're going to need another drink."

While the playboy took his advice, Tacitus made his way across the ballroom, fixated on Arana. Finally he would have a chance to get to the bottom of her fortune. As he shouldered past tipsy elites, he wondered what he would say to her. Soon, he was standing before her, taking in her regal beauty. Her curvaceous body was draped with a flowing, backless black dress cut low, which served to flaunt her ample bosom. A diamond necklace sparkled on her chest. She was making small talk among her guests, charming them with her refined voice and her elegant face. "Oh, I truly do hope the countess feels better- Tacitus!" She said, turning to the Imperial. "What a pleasure to see you again."

"Yes, yes, you too." _Hmph,_ he thought, _last time we saw each other she wasn't so pleased._

"So, how are you, my dear? I heard something about you taking a job with the government?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking." That was an exaggeration, Tacitus knew. "And yourself?" The Imperial tried to direct Arana's attention away from the fact that he was a detective, figuring that if she knew that and her fortune was gained by illicit means, it was unlikely she would talk.

"Oh, splendid, splendid. As you can see," the Dunmer said with a wave around the ballroom, "fortune has smiled upon me."

"Speaking of which, I can't help but ask just where all this came from. I truly am impressed." Tacitus was not impressed.

"Oh, a long-lost uncle of mine died and named me sole beneficiary in his will. He was well off already, but with a few good investments his small fortune became a not so small fortune."

_She has no family,_ Tacitus mused internally. "Well, that's just wonderful for you," he said. "We should find time to catch up."

"Ah, that sounds just fine. Maybe-" Arana was interrupted by a whisper in the ear from her steward, Tyrolil Bernand. "Yes, Mr. Bernand," she said quietly, "make the call." Arana turned to Tacitus and said, "You know, you didn't really answer my question about your job, but I believe an answer would now be in order. The rumor is, you're a detective."

Tacitus nodded.

"Good," the Dunmer said soberly, "because Mr. Bernand has just informed me of a murder on the premises."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Adlain Manor was abuzz with activity as rich partygoers began to be displaced by local law enforcement. The majority of the guests were able to leave, but those who had conspicuously interacted with the victim were held, along with a few others with no obvious connection; at Tacitus' behest, Elsa, Garrus, and Pilus were kept behind, while Jadier was free to go because he had never met Arana. He had doctored up an excuse for the chief of police saying that these guests had been near the victim, but in reality he was desperate to understand what was going on with Arana. How had she known a number of his own old friends and the brother of one, when they had met after Tacitus had split with the group? He intended to find out in his questioning. Now Tacitus stood over the victim's body, which lay on a stretcher in the hall next to the maintenance closet where it had been discovered.

The victim was Monir Anai, a Khajiit industrialist who sold numerous heavy industrial goods out of his main plant in Skyrim's manufacturing capitol, Markarth. The black fur on his head was matted with blood, which had had time to run down from the cranial wound to stain his expensive business suit. "Whoever did this got him with a household object, something probably laying around in this very hall," a forensic examiner said from Tacitus' side. An elf in flowing robes, a seer reminiscent of ancient times, strode up in front of the examiner and, putting two fingers to his temple, said loudly, "I see what has happened here! My vision is cloudy, but I can see the victim! His assailant used... That metal box!" He dramatically looked to a decorative silver box that sat on a table a little ways away from the closet. Picking it up, the examiner scowled and observed, "This corner is dented. I hate to admit it, but those backwards mystics do get results."

"All right, people, I want you to search this entire portion of the house," announced the police chief. "Top to bottom. I want to know if our perp left any clues behind. You two!" He caught the attention of a pair of officers. "Set up an interrogation room for Detective Axianus."

~~~

The makeshift interrogation chamber was the kitchen adjacent to a party lounge not far from the ballroom. Its intended purpose was to act as a place where the lady of the manor might serve her guests outside the context of a dinner party; tonight the eating area was the waiting room for those queued to be questioned by Tacitus. The Imperial had been informed that his persons of interest were gathered in the lounge, but before he got there he learned that a female elf was found unconscious in a powder room. So when he strode into the room, he announced, "Pilus!" before quickly heading back to the kitchen.

Pilus followed through the double doors, a cop's hand gripping his arm. Tacitus gestured for the guard to leave, and the two now sat across from one another at a food preparation table, alone. "Where did you meet Miss Adlain?" Tacitus started.

"I want a lawyer."

"No. Did she have some work done with all that cash she pulled out of thin air?"

"I know my rights. Let me call my lawyer."

"No. Where did you meet-"

Pilus raised his voice, making it firm but civil. "I'm not talking until I have my lawyer present!"

"Why was the woman you headed off with alone found unconscious in a powder room?" Tacitus leaned back, folding his fingers together and resting his head in his hands. He chuckled, turning on his questioner's charm; it helped that he had an amulet enchanted to help him persuade his subjects. "Yes, we found her. She's still out. I'd like to know just how she ended up like that, if you'd be so kind?"

Pilus smirked a little; it looked like a cringe. "She had been drinking."

"Oh? She passes out and you leave her in there? Come on, last time we met you were a sweet fellow. So maybe you left her to have a nap. But she is a pretty girl, and she seemed quite taken with you when I watched you two walk off. Did you have any other plans?"

"I was... Thinking of taking her home." Tacitus was intrigued at this seemingly simple response. There was no embarrassment at the apparent intent to sleep with a drunken admirer, and no scrambling to come up with a lie.

"You're quite frank, Pilus. Want to-"

"I prefer Doctor, thank you."

"You could go by 'inmate' if your story doesn't wash. A little while back a report came across my desk. And on that report, a cop in your neighborhood requested some help looking into a few disappearances of people you were seen with. I didn't think it deserved any attention at the time, but depending on what your lady admirer says when she comes to, I might change my stance."

Pilus was silent.

Tacitus continued. "Want to tell me what your intents were for after you got her home?"

"Well, I do have a bit of a thing for... experimentation, but I'd rather you not go around telling my coworkers that." Tacitus noted that the surgeon seemed to be carefully choosing his words.

"Hm. Let's go back to my first question. Where did you meet Miss Adlain?"

Pilus' stark expression turned to a smile. He threw up his hands and said, "I never did. To tell the truth, I think the only reason why I got an invite was my prominence as a cosmetic surgeon."

"You do love to stroke that ego a lot more than you did last time we spoke."

~~~

"Elsa!"

The Nord woman was shown in, and Tacitus motioned for her to sit. Elsa spoke up, sounding friendly but delivering her words like a cutting blade. "So, old friend, can I ask why a heiress such as myself and a war hero such as Garrus are being held under suspicion regarding a murder?"

"You're not. I just have one question."

"Shoot."

"From where do you know Miss Adlain?"

"I don't. Is there something unusual about one rich woman extending a party invitation to another?"

_We'll see,_ the Imperial thought to himself. "That's all." Elsa was replaced by Garrus, and before the man could protest his being questioned, Tacitus said, "You're not suspected. Do you actually know Miss Adlain?"

Garrus shot back briefly, "No."

"You're free to go."

~~~

"What took you so long?"

Tacitus and Malborn leaned over the railing at the upper floor of the near-vacant ballroom. Tacitus had delegated the rest of the questioning to an officer, assuring him it would be light work considering that no one at the party had seen anything suspicious.

"I had to sneak past all the police and make sure it was safe to be seen. Snooping around the manor on the night when an industrialist is killed is not the best alibi, and I _just hate_ to lie to the boys in blue. And while I would have a perfectly reasonable explanation to offer anyone who might ask, I have a feeling they wouldn't buy it."

"Good call, we wouldn't want anyone pegging you for a criminal, now would we? Alright, show me what you've got."

"I can't do that unless we abscond to my place." The elf flashed a miniature camera in his jacket pocket. "Microfilm. It develops quickly, but the only place we can do that is back home."

"I'll get us out. Follow me." As they began to leave, Tacitus was stopped by a call from an officer. "Detective! Where're you headed?"

"Got a lead to look into. Any word on the unconscious woman?"

"That's fast. I guess that's why you're a provincial detective after three years. The woman? Yeah, she didn't pass out from booze. We're getting a warrant scratched out to search the doc's place."

"Good luck with that." Tacitus and Malborn were out the door.

~~~

"Care for a drink while we wait?" Malborn said shortly after having put his used microfilm into a small darkroom to develop. "We can go over the film with a microscope to find a starting point for investigation, but I'll have to blow up the pictures later on."

"Scotch and ice." Malborn made the pair drinks and delivered the scotch to Tacitus.

"So," Tacitus said, "can you tell me what you remember from the files?"

"A few things stuck out."

"Are we talking about Arana or Monir?"

"Both. That's why these things stuck out. One was a big social club in Markarth, entire membership is made up of elven immigrants and connected to the union at Anai's company. The other was Kurt Alissen, a name that I think might be close to the Thieves' Guild, one that I remember seeing in connection with Anai's company."

"So Arana's sudden fortune and Monir Anai's sudden misfortune might be connected?"

"Bingo."

"Well then, I know where I'm headed."

~~~

A few days later, Tacitus had left Malborn to delve further into the files he had copied and the connection between Anai, Alissen, and the Markarth Elven Club; the Imperial was off to Markarth to look into Anai's business. He had ridden into town in the afternoon when the workday was ending, and intended to see the head of the MEC.

It took a short while for the man in charge to tell his secretary to let Tacitus in to the dim office with walls covered top to bottom in files and records. A stocky, slightly pudgy Dunmer waited at his desk dressed in a cheap suit, and when Tacitus entered he rose and said through a thick accent, "Detective."

"Mr. Dreth, how are you?"

"How I am is not important," the elf said. "What business do you have with us?"

"Right down to the heart of things, I see. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you, sir."

" 'Sir.' Ha. Are you trying to humor me, Imperial? Make the dirty little elf feel nice so he'll answer all your questions?"

"No I am not. Would you rather I not call you 'sir'?" Tacitus said. _Gods, awful combative he is._

"It's fine. I'm just used to the people in this city walking on my kind. The cat man's an industrialist, and a hard-working elf can't get a drink at half the places in this city!"

"Well, sir, I believe that's a good place to begin asking my questions. The 'cat man' is dead."

Dreth scratched his chin. "So, what do you want to know?"

"What is your organization's connection to Miss Arana Adlain?"

"We strongly support the advancement of our kind in social and financial standing."

"Yes, but what is your real connection - that is to say, your financial connection - to Miss Adlain?"

"We have given her certain funds."

"For what?"

Dreth paused. "Loans."

"What does a rich woman such as Miss Adlain need loaned to her by a social club in Markarth?"

"Extra investment funds. She's embarking on some ventures that our organization would like to be a part of." Tacitus knew that the money given to Arana by the MEC was far greater than just some extra funds.

"Such as?"

"None of your concern."

"May I ask how much was loaned?"

"Again, none of your concern."

"What is the interest owed?"

"Do you have a warrant? And may _I_ ask why you are questioning us regarding Miss Adlain as opposed to Monir Anai?"

"Mr. Anai was killed at Miss Adlain's party. But I will ask about Mr. Anai. What was your organization's connection to him?"

"There was none. Now if you'd leave me to my business, I'd appreciate it."

~~~

The meeting with Dreth answered few questions and left more suspicions. The MEC was a prominent group that had loaned enough money to catch Malborn's attention, and yet it was run by a rough-around-the-edges Dark Elf whose office looked to be the records department; that elf had given vague and defensive answers, and had especially tensed up at the question of interest. _If these are indeed powerful people_, Tacitus thought, _could the interest be something more than the loan amount plus a percentage?_

Tacitus headed from there to a nearby cornerclub, in search of the union perspective on Anai. He selected a rugged-looking Nord at the bar for answers. After buying the man a beer, he started in, "What did the workers think of Anai?"

"He was a good boss. Paid pretty well, but made sure we earned our pay. Never too demanding. A lot of guys admired that he had done just about every job he paid us to do."

"Did the union like him?"

"Oh, sure they did. They hardly ever had to make a big stink about contract disagreements or take their deals to arbitration, because Anai was a reasonable guy. There's never been a strike so far."

"The MEC has a lot of pull with the union, don't they?"

"The kind of pull a storm has on a sailing ship. Their members like to make trouble - a practice their leadership condones. Anai treats the whole workforce just fine and they go off and say that he's holding down the elves, and the combination of their money and their nuisance causes the union to push for special accommodation of the elves. But they're not the voice of the people. Most of the elves I know resented the privileges and the made-up racial class war and the whole deal."

"You know," Tacitus mused, "you're quite articulate for a workingman."

"Arti-wha?" The Nord joked.

An older Dunmer a few seats away chimed in grimly, "You wanna know about the MEC? _I_ can tell you a thing or two about the MEC."

"Alright, where's your information from?"

The Dunmer stood and walked over and sat at a barstool next to Tacitus. He pulled back his shirt sleeve and revealed a tattoo of a simple skull with no lower jaw and horns sprouting from the cranium, growing downwards and curving around so that the tips were just below the upper jaw.

"I've never seen anything like that in connection with the MEC," Tacitus said.

"And they'd be disappointed to know it hasn't stayed so. Honestly, I wish I could get this removed."

"I'm listening."

"I assume you talked to that little fish Dreth?"

"I did. How did you know?"

"He's a front. The real leadership like using him, or in the past, his ilk, to keep suspicion away."

"Suspicion that..."

"That the MEC is more than just chronically disgruntled social club." The mer called to the barkeep for a whiskey, and then continued, "I signed up when I was a young man with lots of energy and anger. I was very vocal about the group's ideals. I moved up quickly, past all the BS about solidarity and racial brotherhood. It was like something out of a book meant to scare children with vivid imaginations. Hoods and cloaks, strange rituals, daedra worship. When I witnessed a human sacrifice, I knew I had to get out."

"Gods," Tacitus said, stunned at how sinister the MEC really was. "And the money? Everyone knows they have money, sure, but what about this secret cult?"

"Off the books? You wouldn't believe."

~~~

It rained that evening in Markarth; not enough to cause any worry about the river flooding, just a drizzle. If anything, it would provide a nice boost to those waterfront factories that still supplemented their power with old-fashioned water wheels. A light fog was in the air. Tacitus's motorcycle was parked outside of a small motel, and the Imperial was headed inside when he spotted an abandoned newspaper. He picked it up before continuing into the motel office. He held up the paper, and saw that the headline screamed "SKYRIM OUTLAWS STRIKE AGAIN" in bold print. The papers had been running some variation on that headline for the past month or so, mostly because the Skyrim Outlaws _were _striking again and again, robbing banks and stores all over the province. Accounts from victims described them as a human couple, average looking but with extensive knowledge of the ins and outs of a heist. A composite sketch of the pair was visible beneath the headline.

Tacitus lowered the paper and found Elsa and Garrus just then turning to walk out, arm in arm. "Well," Tacitus said, looking down at the paper again, "what a nice surprise."

"Tacitus..." The couple said in near-unison. "Why, indeed," Elsa said sweetly. "What brings you here?"

"The case with Monir Anai."

"That nasty business with the party? What a shame."

"Yes, yes. But what brings you two here, I should ask? You two are very rich, after all. I believe there's a nice hotel ten blocks from here that would suit you better." Tacitus chuckled. "And your clothes!" Garrus was wearing an inexpensive suit, and Elsa was in a simple black dress. "Again, you can afford a little luxury." He smiled.

"Yes, well, we didn't want to draw any attention to ourselves. We're just on a little vacation is all."

"In that case, you're achieving your goal. Tacitus glanced down at the paper. "Just a 'nice young couple driving cross-country' I suppose." The rest of that line from the paper was, '...gleefully robbing people blind and leaving them tied up.'

Garrus finally spoke up. "You know, this is nice, but we'd like to get to our room, get to bed," he said, putting an arm around Elsa.

"Yes, of course. But before I leave you two be, you didn't happen to stop in Rorikstead on your way here, did you? They were hit by those Skyrim Outlaws just a day ago, I heard." Tacitus looked Garrus firmly in the eye, conveying that he knew exactly what they were up to.

"Let's talk on our way to our room."

The three jogged from the office to the shelter in front of the long, squat motel complex. "I know. And I'm not taking you in," Tacitus said. "Because you can help me. And because I know you'll stop this and go home to your cozy mansion and live happily ever after if I just ask nicely." Elsa and Garrus both looked at Tacitus with straight faces, Elsa's betraying a bit of apologetic sentiment.

Tacitus continued. "I need to know who Kurt Alissen is, what's his connection to the Thieves' Guild, and where can I find him."

Elsa answered, "If this Alissen is a real person - and he might just be a name on an account - he's probably someone considered 'a friend of the family' by the Guild. He's probably involved with the business side of Guild operations. As for where to find him, start looking in Windhelm. Get a good informant and go from there. Good night."

"I said I would ask nicely. So please, stop holding up banks and shops all over the place."

The couple began to walk away, and Tacitus called out, "And don't you go moonlighting as a safecracker in people's homes, either!" Elsa just shook her head and chuckled. It instilled in the Imperial a sense of melancholy to see his old friends in the state they were in - Garrus and himself had had their spats, but were reasonably friendly all those years back, and Elsa had been like a sister to him. Now, the veteran had obviously seen some things during the war and Elsa just didn't give a damn. Tacitus flipped his newspaper open and saw a picture of Pilus. "PLASTERED RIFTEN PARTYGOER GETS PLASTIC SURGEON PENNED," the article was titled, the work of a sensational journalist. "RIFTEN - Famous plastic surgeon Pilus Amatius was arrested this week on thirteen counts of kidnapping and murder. Investigation revealed that the accused had been experimenting on his victims, claiming "the most perfect face and strongest life force" as his goal..."

~~~

The next night, Tacitus was back in Solitude, left alone with Angi working on putting together the evidence he had found. The beautiful redhead was helping go over the numbers in Arana's files, work which Tacitus was surprised to find she excelled at. Their task was coming to a close when Angi leaned over on Tacitus' desk and asked, "Why are you risking your career over this girl?"

"What do you mean?" Was his response. "I'm trying to solve a murder. She's involved in this whole thing somehow. Everything ties her and Anai together in this."

"You're obviously emotional about this. Emotion is all you could possibly still be running on. You want her back, is that it?"

"No. I want closure. She left me and showed up again with a fortune. I want to know how and why. Maybe I even want revenge, hoping that she did something wrong that will get her thrown in jail. But I don't want her back, I want to move on." 

Angi rose and put a hand on Tacitus' shoulder, pulling lightly and prompting him to rise. "I'm clocking out for the night," she said tiredly, "and if you know what's good for you you'll do the same." She kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck in Windhelm."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Windhelm was a frustrating city to travel within; the ancient stronghold city, the City of Kings that had formerly been protected by impregnable stone defenses, had been ravaged over the centuries to the point that when modern urban development reached the ruin, of which only the Palace of the Kings remained, it had proved a difficult but promising canvas. Promising, because it was a clean slate; difficult, because of the frigid river that separated the narrow stretch of land where the city rested from the surrounding area. But the challenge was accepted, and Windhelm was rebuilt around the Palace, covering the peninsula and stretching far longer than it was wide. The Long City was a common, and certainly appropriate, nickname. And this was why Windhelm was frustrating; one's destination was either a few blocks north or south, or it could be a relatively great stretch east or west.

"Well, here it is. The Snow Fox," Malborn announced, cutting the engine in his luxurious black coupe and pulling Tacitus from his own thoughts about Angi, who had pecked the normally all-business detective on the cheek the night before and had kept pecking at his thoughts ever since. "Bundle up, my friend, we're only walking to the door but Windhelm will freeze you solid two steps out of the car." Tacitus buttoned up his red leather overcoat, pulled his maroon fedora down on his skull, and exited the long, sleek machine made up of swooping strokes and rare materials. The two men raced through the freezing mid-afternoon air, headed for the club that Malborn had suggested as a starting point in the search for Kurt Alissen.

Relieved to escape the cold, the pair began to remove their winter garb and take in the scene; a darkened room furnished, like any club, with tables and chairs, and plush booth seating lining the walls. A bar interrupted the booths near the center of the right wall, and a stage, illuminated by spotlights, sat empty opposite the door. The room was populated sparsely, and one figure stood out relatively easy among the two o'clock crowd.

Tacitus led Malborn nonchalantly toward the bar, where the figure leaned on an elbow. "I thought I was the one showing _you_ around this place," Malborn said quietly. "This is an old friend," the Imperial replied,"one that didn't end up hating me." Tacitus sat on a barstool next to the huge Redguard dressed in all black.

"Hey, Farth," he said as if he were running into a regular sight. "Hey there-" came the unsuspecting response. A short pause went by, then Farth turned and hugged Tacitus tightly.

"Tacitus!" His deep voice boomed gleefully. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for answers." Tacitus noted the smell of liquor on his old friend. "This is Malborn." Farth happily greeted the Bosmer, then got down to business. "So, what kind of answers?"

"You hear about the Khajiit who was killed a few days ago? Well, I'm working that case."

"You're-" Farth caught himself and lowered his voice. "You're a cop, coming in here? That's not the best idea."

"Yeah, well, don't go yelling it around and it shouldn't cause a problem. Now I should ask, what are you doing here?"

The Redguard rolled his sleeve back and revealed a tattoo of a vertical diamond with a circle in the center. "A shadowmark," Malborn whispered.

"Farth, you're not-"

"Listen, Tacitus, I know you're a cop and all, but it's really not that bad; the name of the Guild is really just a source of misunderstandings nowadays. And it's not like I'm robbing anyone, I just help collect debts and that kind of thing, part time."

Tacitus laughed incredulously. "You're too big to be a pickpocket anyways." He sighed. "I'm not here to arrest you, Farth. I just need some help with a bit of information. There's a man named Kurt Alissen who has some kind of dealings with the Guild. I need to know either where I can find him or where I can find out what I need to know about him. Can you help me?"

Farth glanced over at the stage. "Yeah, sure, but remember what I said about being part time at the Guild? I've gotta play, man. Then I'll see. Hey, Jorn!" He called to the bartender. "Get these guys whatever they ask, on me!" Jorn nodded.

"Well, Jorn, I'd like just something to munch on if you'd be so kind," Malborn said.

Farth had taken his place on stage, sitting to the right side at a grand piano. A beautiful, tanned brunette walked out in a red silk dress and stood in front of a microphone. Farth began to slowly tap out an ancient tune. The woman started to sing in her rich mezzo-soprano croon.

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart..."

"Good show," Tacitus said as Farth returned from the stage.

"Thanks. Now I guess you want me to call my man?" Tacitus nodded. "I'll just be a minute," Farth replied.

"That was quite beautiful," Malborn remarked. "So was the song."

"Hey," Tacitus said with a scowl, "we're working."

"You're working," the elf replied. "I'm here of my own volition."

"Yes, well, Farth's only going to be a moment- here he is now."

"Alright, the place is on Bear's Tooth Street. It's townhouse 27. You'll leave my name out of any official papers you have to file, right?"

"Yeah, you got it. Just do me a favor and lay off the booze, okay? This is advice coming from a friend."

"Yeah, whatever. Take care."

A pair of officers in a black-and-white squad car rushed through the streets of a snowy Windhelm, heading for Bear's Tooth St. A call from Tacitus saw that they were dispatched from the police station nearest that address, eight blocks away, and they were assigned to keep the informant safe until the Detective arrived.

The squad car turned a corner, and one of the officers recognized the townhouse halfway down the street. An unfamiliar car was parked out front. Fearing some danger, the driver floored the squad car. As they approached, a figure became visible slowly walking out of the front door. He was dressed in all black robes, an unusual sight. An arcane glow from his hands reflected on the frost-coated brick of the house's front steps. The man raised his hands to chest-level, forced them together, then released.

A miniature blizzard shot forth from the man's hands, connected with the pavement ahead of the fast-approaching car, and seemed to grow like a parasite. The car drove right into the magical flurry, which spread into the front wheels and axle of the car, locking up the steering and leaving the rear tires spinning freely. The car flew along wildly, catching on a curb and violently flipping onto its roof. It took the officers inside a few moments to crawl weakly from the wrecked vehicle and take shelter behind it; strangely, the attacker allowed them this time to attempt to gather themselves. The men were then quick to send a hail of bullets back at the mage, taking turns between their barrage and cover, though this did little to help their situation. The man seemed to know just when to throw up a ward to harmlessly catch the bullets.

One cop fell to the ground with a spear of ice through his shoulder, prompting his partner to take his place; this only put the second man in position to bear the delayed effect of the ice spell, which was to explode into dozens of razor-like shards which would pierce his lower legs. This brought the man down next to his comrade, whose blood had begun to freeze, and sent his gun skittering along the pavement.

Frantic, shivering from both the cold and shock, the man tried to pull himself over to the weapon, which lay just beyond the shelter of the upturned vehicle. One pull. He looked back at his legs and saw that they were quickly being overtaken by frost. Another pull. He was nearing what was, due to his injury, the point of no return. Yet another pull. He could just see around the car; feet were walking his way. One more pull, and a lunge for the handgun.

The man found himself on his back, his own pistol pointed between his eyes and the robed figure's knee on his chest. For a moment, they stared at each other, the policeman trying desperately to pierce the shadow of his attacker's hood, but finding himself only able to see clearly the figure's red eyes. In a flurry of desperation, he went for the gun pressed to his forehead; unsurprisingly, this failed. But what was surprising was that he was not dead. The mystery man had pinned his arms, and pulled back the hammer on the revolver, letting the cop live a little longer. Only a little; the robed man squeezed the trigger, and the tense body fell limp.

The killer turned and headed for his car, and was met by a similarly-dressed figure from within the townhouse, who took the wheel and sped the pair away.

"Gloves on," Tacitus cautioned as he and Malborn approached the scene where two police lay dead. It was evening, and in the glow of the streetlights that dotted the sidewalk, the two bodies were vaguely visible in the shadow of the nearby wrecked squad car. They stopped to look at the corpses, and it was apparent that whoever did this had used frost magic, at least before one of the cops had been finished off with his own weapon. Tacitus dreaded the thought of what this boded for the interior of the small townhouse, but he had to walk up those slick stone steps and push open the slightly ajar door. The criminals had not forced their way in; one of them was an expert lockpick.

The front room was a living area, with a cheap couch and end table across from the still-burning hearth. A few displaced items, a crooked picture frame on the bare walls, a broken vase, all signs of a struggle; they pointed upstairs. Tacitus motioned for Malborn to follow him up. The narrow stairwell led to a relatively minuscule hall which forked in the directions of the bedroom and study. No lights were on, and Tacitus preferred to let the scene stay as untouched as possible, so as to better allow for accurate speculation of the events which had transpired, so he flicked a candlelight spell up into the air. The study door was open a crack, and what presumably was the bedroom was shut, so the Imperial chose the study.

The small room, cramped with walls of filing cabinets in alphabetical order, was surprisingly neat; neater than the rest of the residence, Tacitus pointed out. "Except for the bloody sacrificial murder."

The yet-unnamed informant lay in the center of the room, his limbs splayed about at awkward angles, face mangled and swollen from numerous bashes and tears from what must have been some kind of jagged or barbed mace. His button-up shirt was open, and the same symbol of the horned skull that Tacitus had seen in Markarth was carved into the man's chest. "Gods..." Malborn said, stepping over the pool of blood surrounding the corpse, Tacitus in tow. "Here's all the A's. Adenvald, Agruer, Akran... Alissen! This folder's quite thin... There's only a couple papers in here; looks like this one's a statement of a major deposit by this Kurt to Arana. And this one's a letter. _Dear Miss Adlain,_ began Malborn. _Your royalty, in advance. We at the Guild wish you the best, and hope that our haul from the 'cat's cradle' in comparison with this payment makes you feel robbed. It's what we do best._ And then there's just a shadowmark. I guess Kurt is just a name on an account." The Bosmer continued to leaf through the folder.

"They certainly haven't hit Anai's house yet," Tacitus said. "There will be police there for at least another few days."

"And here is a stock statement for Anai Manufacturing. Looks like 'Kurt' is almost majority owner, but this statement is four months old! Tacitus, how much would you like to bet that if we head back to my house and look over the blown-up shots of Arana's records we won't find a newer statement of stock sale to guess who?"

"I don't like those odds," Tacitus remarked. "Come on, let's call the police so we can get out of here."

"Does it always rain here?"

It was raining in Markarth, yet again, and Tacitus was back in the City of Stone. Rain pelted the squad car where he sat with Deputy Ferris Raydari, a fresh-faced Breton who had gotten a message to the Imperial in Windhelm: that he knew where to look for dirt on the MEC, and every other cop in the city either had his pockets lined or throat slashed, and subsequently would not do what needed to be done to find the truth.

"We have our fair days, yes," Ferris chirped in the thick High Rock accent of his parents. "You're just catching us at the wrong time, see. Shall we go?" Tacitus nodded, and the two men stepped out into the rain. Under his tan trench coat, Ferris carried a peculiar jointed lock High Rock handgun and an antique war axe - carrying ancient styles of blades being quite common - and he had conveyed that he was ready to use them. The two left the car in the streets of Old Markarth, parked outside an original home which the MEC purportedly used as their archives. The building's title was in the MEC's name, but nobody had ever been seen visiting it - at least not during business hours.

Ferris produced an odd-looking Dwemer key and inserted it into the keyhole of the large metal doors. The lock clicked open, and the duo stepped inside, closing the door behind them.

The house would have looked normal, was it not outfitted with the things of whoever had owned it ages before. Dwemer gas lights still burned, pots and pans were stacked on shelves, there was even a fresh dinner sitting on crude wooden plates. "Looks almost like someone centuries just got up and left. Question is, how can everything still look like new?" Tacitus asked.

"This... This can't be! Everything pointed to this being the archive where the MEC keeps things they never want to see the light of day! What-" the Breton was interrupted by a loud noise from deeper within the house. "Wait, did you hear that?" Both men took of running, bursting through the door that led further in. It was dimmer when they found the stairs which led even deeper.

This brought them to yet another door, which appeared to be unlocked; however, both men's efforts to push through were useless. "What in the gods' names... We need to get help, something's not right here!" Ferris led Tacitus back up to the entrance, only to find that it too would not budge. "Gods, what's happening?"

_"Weak. He's weak. You're strong. Crush him."_

"Did you hear that?" Tacitus asked grimly.

"I heard nothing. Come on, give it another try."

Tacitus took the door's handle and yanked, but still the door was fixed. The voice returned, deep and malevolent; it sounded like the embodiment of pure evil._ "No. Kill him. Crush his bones. Tear at his flesh. You will kill,"_ the voice boomed, _"or you will die!"_ The household furnishings had begun to float.

"I heard that!" Ferris exclaimed. No sooner was his body wracked with a painful spasm. "Gaaah! No! I won't!" Despite his words, Ferris drew his axe, clearly putting every ounce of willpower into resisting whatever was controlling him. Slowly and shakily, he raised the axe; when he brought it down, he was still fighting.

Tacitus watched in horror as the Breton fell to a knee and let out a guttural cry; in an act of defiance against whatever force wished him to kill Tacitus, he had sunken the blade deep into his thigh. Slowly, he removed the weapon from his flesh, raising it again and this time smashing it into the house's stone floor. He scraped the weapon along and gritted his teeth. "Make... It... Fast." He growled through a clenched jaw. "Stop... This."

Tacitus did not relish what he had to do, but the fact that he was freeing this noble policeman from such pain offered some consolation. He drew his nine millimeter pistol and shot Ferris in the head. "All right! Now what do you want, you sick bastard!"

_"Good. Yes. Your reward is waiting for you, mortal. Further down."_

_Mortal?_ Tacitus thought. _What have I stumbled on?_ The sullen Imperial proceeded down the stairs, this time finding that the formerly blocked door now opened freely. It led to a small subterranean cavern, at the end of which lay an ebony altar emblazoned with a horned skull, same as the one cut into the dead informant back in Windhelm. Atop the altar lay a rusted mace.

Tacitus decided to play along with this evil being's game. He stepped up to the altar, and suddenly a cage of jagged metal spikes sprung up around the Detective. _"Fool!"_ bellowed the voice. _"Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would so easily reward you? What do you see from that little cage? Speak."_

_Molag Bal? That explains all the imagery of horned skulls._ Tacitus thought. He was about to speak when he realized, _He thinks I submitted to him when I killed Ferris! Getting out of here should be easier than I thought._

"I see a rusty mace... _My lord,_" Tacitus observed.

_"Rusted. Dry. There was a time when this mace dripped with the blood of the feeble and the worthless. But a Daedric Lord has his enemies, and my rival Boethiah had her priest desecrate it. Left it here to decay. Until you came."_

"So... You want revenge?"

Bal's voiced lowered to a demonic low growl._ "Revenge? No. I want submission. I want the priest who did this to bend his knee and give me his soul. He comes by to perform Boethiah's insulting rites at my altar, but he's been missing. Captured and bound. Left to rot. Save him. Let him perform his rite one more time. And when he does, we will be waiting for him."_ The cage retracted._ "Now take my mace. It is the only way my domain on Mundus can extend beyond this shrine."_

Tacitus was up to the living room of the house when Bal's voice invaded his consciousness once again._"You think I cannot see your true motives, human?"_ The daedra bellowed,_ "You carry my mace; you carry with you my presence! If you will not bow to me in this life, you will in the next!"_

Just then, the lock on the front door, which Bal had opened, clicked shut. The door leading into the next room also locked, and the air in the house began to heat up._ "You will bow, or you will die!"_ The temperature was increasing rapidly, so much so that the stuffy air began to shimmer. Tacitus was perspiring profusely. He threw off his trench coat, then his suit jacket. He had to loosen his tie._ Is this it?_ He wondered.

"No. I will not bow! Deputy Ferris did not bow!" With steeled resolve, Tacitus pulled his pistol out once again and began to shoot at the lock of the door. The metal was denting, but the pistol could only do so much.

_"Ha! You think your mundane little toy can save you?"_

"No, I don't," the Imperial said with a weary grin, before he drew the rusted Mace of Molag Bal and attacked the door. His forceful swings were furthering the work his bullets had done, but the end seemed far out of sight. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the Mace seemed to radiate sheer agony. _"No!"_ Molag Bal screeched. _"No, no, no! You will submit yet!"_ Tacitus believed he might indeed cave if the heat and pain became any worse, but in one final fell swoop, the Dwemer doors bursted open, and Tacitus was thrown into the evening rain. This time, he was grateful for the refreshing downpour. Glancing back into the house, he saw that the heat had dissipated. He let the Mace roll out of his hand to the stone street, and he hurried to pick up his coat and jacket. He walked off into the night, headed for a phone where he could let the Markarth PD know that they needed to draw up a warrant to investigate the MEC.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Malborn drove along a twisting coastal road to the north of Solitude; it was an overcast day, past noon, and the Bosmer, while he had a destination, was enjoying the perks of being a millionaire. That was, a cherry-red coupe with a V12 engine at the front. It had been a purchase that was well worth the money it cost. But then, being a master thief had its own set of unique perks; for example, Malborn didn't pay taxes either. The red bullet sped around twists and turns, handling occasional gusts of rain from off the sea with ease, headed for Monir Anai's vacation home, only recently vacated by the police. Malborn could see why the slain industrialist would choose to vacation there; resolute pines dotted the shore, salt was in the air, and all just a thirty minute drive from Solitude. He was only a mile away.

The distance winnowed away with the car's swift motion, and soon Anai's solitary house was in view. It was a stately thing, clothed in fine clapboard painted teal; nowhere near the size and opulence of the Adlain Manor, but splendidly modern. Respectable. Next to the house was a matching three-car garage.

Malborn rolled to a stop in front of the garage and stepped out of his vehicle, headed for the entrance; he wore his usual all-black attire, though this time plus an overcoat. Trying the doorknob and finding it locked, the Bosmer produced a simple lockpicking kit from his jacket and in seconds had the front door open. He shut the door behind him and slid out of his coat, hanging it on a 'tree' hanger. The room he was in was a large foyer, walls painted white and adorned with fine art in gold frames. Two opposite sets of steps led upstairs, and a hall on the first floor led between the stairs to a large living room. Malborn decided to search the living room first.

His thieving skills took over, almost like muscle memory, when he entered the room dominated by huge windows that gave a stunning view of the rocky northern shore. There was a fireplace to the left, a couch on the right, and some simple, tasteful decor. The Bosmer expertly flew through every drawer, nook, and cranny, but he turned up nothing that anyone would want to kill for, let alone someone tied to a daedric cult! There were certainly some nice finds there, however, but the Thieves' Guild could have hit the residence any time prior. _Whatever is so important,_ Malborn thought, _I doubt it's in here._

A thorough search of the rest of the house yielded similarly little; however, the experienced thief saw signs that the slain Khajiit had been a collector of antiques, but without finding a connection. It wasn't until he was back downstairs, pacing the living room and bathed in pale cloud-filtered light, that he spotted it; a little shed, down the hill and right by the water. The elf pulled his overcoat back on and was out the door, braving the cool wind off the sea until he was into the squat structure.

Flicking on a light switch revealed a small workshop, equipped well enough for a man with a budget like Anai's, but surprisingly stark and not very luxurious. _Well, the guy was an industrialist, he had to have started off working with his hands. But what could he have in here?_ Just as this thought crossed his mind, Malborn noticed something that looked different from the rest of the floor beneath the workbench. He quickly dragged the bench out of the way, revealing a trapdoor, prompting the Bosmer to raise his eyebrows before pulling it open.

A ladder led down to a stone floor in a darkened room, with only a square of light shining down from the workshop. Malborn saw a light switch next to the ladder and turned it on. Suddenly, an expansive room appeared, seeming to materialize around the ladder. It had fine stone walls, and only one furnishing: rare artifacts. Malborn stepped slowly through the rows upon rows of pedestals holding fragments of important documents, crown jewels of ancient kingdoms, various items with some historical significance or value. For a moment, he entertained a fantasy of swiping all that he could and stashing it, but it didn't last long; _it would be pretty easy for Tacitus to narrow down who was the only person who could have even done it,_ he thought.

Then he spotted it; a long golden cylinder, two ivory handles, ornate jeweling all around, and an intricate pattern of emerald or jade covered the artifact, like a latticework. The elf recalled spotting a telephone back up the ladder, and hurried to find it.

~~~

"All the pieces are here," Tacitus said as he paced his office. "They just don't fit. The MEC had a grudge against Anai. The Thieves' Guild is majority owners of Anai's company at the MEC's behest. 'Alissen' and Arana fit into all this as the front for taking control of the company. But two things still don't make sense: why did Anai have to die, when the Guild was perfectly able to gain ownership of the company with him still alive, and what in Oblivion does Molag Bal care?"

Angi sat in the sole guest chair across Tacitus' desk, having over the course of the case become a confidant of Tacitus, who was intrigued that someone with such a sharp mind was working as a secretary. She wore form-fitting black slacks and a white blouse. "They must be looking for something," she offered. "Anai had in his will that after his death, his estate belonged to the majority owner of the company. Speaking of which, we should be getting a call from Malborn any minute. Now as for Molag Bal-"

As if on cue, the phone rang. Tacitus strode behind his desk and picked it up off the hook. "Yes... We were just... No... Really? Gods, we'll be right over." The Imperial put the receiver down and said, "He found an Elder Scroll." A stunned silence was shared for a moment before Tacitus broke in, "What would the MEC do - what _could_ they do, since we've got them by the neck - with an Elder Scroll? And if the Thieves' Guild were planning to rob Anai's place, how much could they possibly be getting to keep them from taking the Scroll for themselves?!"

"About that-"

The squealing of four or five sets of tires cut the red-haired Nord off once again. The pair listened expectantly for a second before the silence was rocked by gunfire, smashing through the walls of the office. Tacitus dove over his desk and crouched next to Angi, both their backs to the desk as the assault continued to pepper the front of the headquarters building with bullets. Cries echoed from other areas of the building, suggesting that many of the other personnel had not been as fast or as lucky. A dull thud resonated up through the floorboards, presumably the entrance being kicked open. Tacitus had pulled his suit coat, pistol, and katana off his desk; Angi reached up and pressed the intercom button linking to her desk, listening for signs of the mystery attackers. They could be distantly heard, still combing through the ground floor and battling the resistant personnel. Angi went to stand up and go for the door, but Tacitus grabbed her arm to stop her.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm getting ready to leave, and so should you. We need to get to Anai's house."

"But what about everyone else here? And the fact that we're_ under attack?_"

"So you're fine with taking risks until we really need to? Trust me. Getting out of here needs to be our priority. You'll understand later." Angi put a hand on the puzzled Imperial's shoulder before bursting out the door. Tacitus obeyed, grabbing what few things he needed, and keeping his pistol at the ready he walked out to meet Angi.

He was surprised to see her with a holster similar to his own on, a large handgun fastened in; an elven-styled knife strapped on her belt; and there was a shotgun laying on her desk, with its barrel shortened and stock removed. She was pulling on a strange overcoat, black leather which appeared to be reinforced with a unique grid pattern.

"What in Oblivion..."

Angi looked apologetically at Tacitus. "There's a lot you don't know about me," she sighed. "Let's go."

The pair ran down the stairs into a large workroom shared by lower-level workers and found a pair of robed figures, one brandishing destruction magic and the other a small machine gun. The one with the weapon raised it at Angi, only to find himself kicked in the chest and then taking the full brunt of a close-range shotgun blast. Tacitus planted a couple rounds from his handgun in the chest of the other foe, and they moved on through the building. Luckily, many of the attackers were spread throughout the building and posed little threat to Tacitus and Angi.

When they finally burst out of the front door of the converted manor, they found that of the five black sedans parked in a line in the street, one car-full of the mystery aggressors had remained outside, behind a car to the left of the door. A few bullets skidded off the solid stone bannister of the steps and sent Angi and Tacitus retreating back behind the squat barrier. "My motorcycle is in the alley to the right," Tacitus said before he popped up to send a few rounds at the shadowy figures. He watched one hit a man in the shoulder; the man countered with a flash of reddish magical energy which began to make Tacitus weak. The enemy's wound began to close itself. Tacitus emptied his magazine, then went down to wait a moment for his strength return.

Angi tossed him another mag, which upon inspection was filled with rounds that were enchanted with what looked like some kind of sunlight enchantment. Tacitus furrowed his brow as he looked up at the Nord. She looked a little sheepish, feeling sorry for having deceived the detective for so long; at least he could take some solace in the fact that she would answer his questions soon enough. _She'd better, _Tacitus thought while Angi took a turn firing on the attackers who were apparently vampires. _What have I gotten into?_

The sunlight bullets proved quite effective, and soon the two made a break for the alley. Tacitus quickly started up his bike and jumped on with Angi behind him. They pulled out onto the road and took off, the two remaining vampires in pursuit. The Imperial raced down the street, heading for the other side of the great arch, weaving between bullets from the chasing car as Angi fired the occasional shot back. Traffic was not a major issue, thanks to the disturbance the assault on the SPBI had created.

When they came to the end of the arch Tacitus swung right and rocketed up the mountain road, the sedan skidding behind. It had begun to drizzle.

Angi had swapped her pistol for her shotgun, eager to end the chase. She loaded up a single slug that had been forged with added fire salts, in order to pack even more punch. "Speed up!" She said loudly over the din of the wind and rain and engine. "There's a turn up ahead, fake left and I can end this!" Tacitus gunned it and began to turn late, causing the pursuers to sharply follow suit; Angi swiveled around and fired. Her slug hit the pavement directly in front of the front right wheel, the fiery blast blowing out the tire and some of the asphalt ahead of it. The car lurched into the miniature crater and with the combination of the rain, the speed, and its precarious sideways position, the sedan went into a roll which threw it into a ditch. Tacitus pulled to a stop. There was no movement inside the upturned vehicle.

Angi wrapped an arm around a bewildered Tacitus and they rode into the cool afternoon.

~~~

Tacitus, Malborn, and Angi stood around the Elder Scroll in Anai's cellar. "The MEC are puppets," Angi informed the men. "The daedra worship is their one connection to Clan Volkihar. You wanted to know what the MEC would do with an Elder Scroll, Tacitus; they'd hand it over to the Volkihar. This isn't just any Elder Scroll - if there's such a thing as_ just any_ Elder Scroll - it's the Sun Scroll."

"So, obviously this goes farther than we thought, and most of the SBPD is dead. What do we do now?" Malborn asked.

"We head for the Rift." Angi slung the Scroll over her back and said, "Gentlemen, welcome to the Dawnguard."

~~~

_Dear Tacitus,_

_By now you must know that I was a pawn in this crime; and you probably know to some extent how the events which have happened came to be. I know Anai's death is the least of your worries, but I feel that you deserve the full story. _

_I had accumulated some debts not long before we met. You made me forget about those for a while, but when we were apart I couldn't hide from them. It was one of these times apart when I was approached with an offer too good to be true, which promised to pay my debts and grant me a life of luxury. It did, but at a greater cost than I owed before. I was too late in finding out just who I'd made my deal with; you probably know who that was, too - HE was the reason our relationship started heading south. Anyway, my debt could only be paid with the life of Monir Anai. The people who wanted him dead used my convenient fortune to take control of his company, and on the night of that party one of their agents was allowed to slip in._

_At least I knew how far over my head I was; I invited you because I naturally knew you had taken up a new career, despite what I said that night. I invited your friends, whom I had never met, but whom you spoke of often enough, to help lead you where you are now. Elsa and Garrus were just nondescript guests to my handlers, and so was Pilus - I was not aware, however, of his penchant for murder. I suspect you've run into Jadier once again; I rather impressed myself by slipping him onto the guest list unchallenged. _

_I cannot yet say just how, but soon I'll be free of Molag Bal's grip. I hope I can see you again once I am._

_Love, Arana_


End file.
